Skating Clean
by Besieged Infection
Summary: AU Ienzo Corazza - or, as his fans know him, "Zexion," - never meant to take first in the All-Eastern Men's Figure Skating Competition. He never meant to go to the Olympics. He never meant to defeat his hero. But it all happened, and he finds himself thrown into a world he no longer has any interest in. Zexion/Demyx, Isa/Ienzo


**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.**

**-S-C-**

"Don't look at the screen," my coach would always tell me as we stepped into the waiting room. "If you look at the screen, you might as well have come to lose."

At competitions I would pop in some ear buds, do my stretches – zoning out was the only way to keep myself calm. It was the only way for time to pass without my realizing that there were people out there waiting to judge me. That I was waiting to do my routine. That if I screwed up I came there for nothing.

The All-East Men's Senior Competition, located in none other than Grid, was no different from every other competition I had every participated in before. It just had more pressure.

**-S-C-**

**Ienzo - A Roaring Something**

**-S-C-**

It all began when I was five. Grandmother had left her television on in her living room, and as she chatted with my mother in the kitchen I had wandered into the room. It was an older TV, with knobs for the control of volume and channels. Setting my book on the couch, I went forward to turn it off. The only problem was that all the labels were faded. With five knobs available, I simply stared at them for a while. There were two larger knobs, and three smaller ones. Even with her daughter sending her a section of her paycheck every month, Grandmother refused to update any of her appliances. She claimed to have had the television since the early 50's, which I suspected was true seeing as it was still in black and white.

Starting with the largest knobs, I twisted one to the left. There was a sudden _click_ and the screen flickered once, twice, three times before giving way to a new image. One of a young boy gliding across an ice rink on skates. At first it was nothing of interest, until I saw what he was wearing.

Sequins.

_Are boys allowed to wear sequins? _I thought. They must have, because they covered every inch of the boy's costume, which was a skin-tight leotard with leggings. His sleeves flared out at the shoulder with waves of translucent fabric. I watched closely, not quite sure for a moment whether the person I was watching was actually a boy. I had all but forgotten that I was in the process of turning off the TV.

Then he jumped, throwing himself into a spin midair. After rotating two and a half times he came down, landing backwards and throwing his leg out in a grand motion. Someone was speaking, as well – I don't remember much of what they said, but there was a lot of cheering from the crowd in the stands surrounding the rink. After that were a series of spins that made me dizzy – one of which had him bending over backwards to far I thought he'd fall over. But instead he kept his balance and held a pose.

My book had been forgotten, sitting lonely on the couch as I sat there, watching the program. Eventually the song playing in the background finished, and he bowed to the audience. Only then did a bar appear in the bottom with his name and age, along with a "season's best" of 115. Tasoq Sota, age thirteen – from the Collective States of Spira.

Before his score could be shown, Mother came in with a smile. "Ienzo," I remember her saying, "Would you like some cookies?"

I shook my head and pointed to the screen. "Mom, can I take skating lessons?"

**-S-C-**

Eventually a five minute warning was called, and my coach, Cid, shook my shoulder to warn me. Taking my ear buds out, I reached down to tighten the laces on my skates. "This is happening," I whispered quietly to myself. "This is really happening."

"If you really want out," the man at my side began, taking the toothpick from between his lips and tossing it in the trash, "grow a uterus. This is a _Men's_ competition. And stop looking so nervous – you're in last place. I highly doubt there's any more you could do to embarrass yourself."

"Enrolling in a Major Senior Competition fresh out of Junior level comes to mind."

"You've already done that," the man scoffed, waving his hand back and forth in dismissal. "All you have to do now is beat your own ass into the ice." With that, he reached forward and grabbed the back of my jacket, allowing me to slip out and reveal my costume. It was a generic dress shirt over slacks, with flowing sleeves and sequins sew into the seams. "Oh, and Ienzo?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember to smile this time, okay?"

**-S-C-**

"_Zexion Corazza_." The speakers announced my arrival even before I realized I was at the rink, tugging the guards off my skates and stepping onto the ice. The ice was smooth. The Zamboni had just been there, filling in the holes and scratches of previous skates. The skaters after me wouldn't have the luxury of perfect ice.

I'd have to take advantage of it.

Making a slow round of the rink, getting accustomed to its length, I made my way to the center and stopped. I bowed to the judges, then to the audience.

_See me_, I thought. _See me_.

Standing up straight, I struck a pose – drawing my arm around my waist with the other thrown into the air. A single note rang through the rink as the talking in the stands died down. The dance began.

_Smooth_, I had to remind myself at first. _Make it as smooth as you can. He is watching._ My first jump approached, a double Lutz, and just before I jumped it occurred to me that I could make it bigger. I was in last place according to the viewers – I had nothing to lose. If I failed, it would just be seen as some teenager at his first Senior level competition who got nervous, and if I didn't crash and burn then my parents would have to find me a new coach.

Not that they weren't already looking for a replacement. Cid was retiring, after all.

Set in my decision, I jumped. The world seemed to slow with the movement, and me with it. I spun not once, or twice, but three times before coming back to Earth, only to line back up for a double flip. The audience erupted, having expected a double-double combo. Already, my legs felt like jelly, but I had no time to recover. Gliding to the center, I fell into a camel spin.

_See me_, I thought. It was the only thing driving me on at that point – the desire to be seen by the number one contender, Tasoc Sota. _Please, see me_.

My routine passed without my knowing. Before I knew it I was skating to the rink's door, being led to the camera station. Cid was there, holding out a water bottle and a jacket for me to take. Putting on the jacket with a grateful smile, I took the water bottle and drank heavily, suddenly finding myself very thirsty. We sat down, eyes on the screen, his hand on my shoulder – a heavy, comforting weight – and awaited the score.

The crowd was screaming. Cid was flabbergasted. My season's best score was removed from the screen and replaced with a number I couldn't quiet process – 172. It was as if my brain had shut down. _That can't be my score_, I thought. Around me, everyone was grinning big, patting my back, telling me how amazing I was. Nothing really processed. I was led to the side of the rink to watch the following performances, and even then nothing went through.

I vaguely remember Phillip from Enchanted Dominion fall, along with Tron from Grid. They both joined me in the stands afterward, congratulating me on my score – especially when the third-place competitor failed to beat it. This meant I was guaranteed a place in the top three, but I didn't care. All it meant to me was that I had another five or so minutes until Tasoq had his turn. It wasn't until, again, the second-place competitor failed to beat my score that reality began to sink in.

I was in first place.

"Not for long," I told the other competitors around me when they made their congratulations. "Sota will beat my score."

Tron laughed at this. "Yes – he always seems to do that. I remember when last year Riku here pulled out that beautiful routine – what was it? Fate of the Unknown?" At his side, the man who had just gone blushed at the compliment. "We all thought he had won soundly, but then Sota pulled out that Quad."

"'Those Quads,' Tron. More than one. Weren't there three?" Riku correctly good-naturedly.

I grinned. "There were two – one of which, the quad Toe, was in combination with a triple Axel and a triple Flip."

Riku snapped, turning to look at me with a grin. "That's it! That was amazing to watch."

The announcement to follow Riku's statement made the rink so quiet for all of a second. "_Tasoq Sota_."

We all turned our eyes to the rink. There a figure glided across the ice, appearing to all to be the most relaxed person in the world. He waved to the crowd, which exploded with cheers and shouts of adoration. Flags for the Collective States of Spira flew throughout the crowd. Some were even held up by people that were obviously from places other than Spira. (He seemed very popular with the Atlantians, who stood out from the crowd with their waist-length hair and bare chests. Meanwhile, those from Grid were barely able to remain in their seats. Even their clothes, embedded with entire lines of flexible lights, seemed to be glowing a bit brighter.)

It seemed like he took longer than the rest of us to greet the crowd, which was on its feet in adoration, clapping wildly despite the fact that the man on the ice had yet to perform. Finally, after he bowed to the audience and judges, everyone took their seats and quieted. And as he spun, moving into his pose, Tasoq paused. During that instant I swear to this day that our eyes met, and something akin to _fear_ passed through the man's eyes. In that fraction of an instant I had a realization. A premonition, if you will.

Tasoq Sota was just human.

The music started, as did his dance. Everyone was on their toes, but I knew something was wrong. The fear I had seen in his eyes was bugging me. Someone mentioned that a Quad Flip was coming up – they must have been listening to the podcast on their phone – and my eyes glued themselves to the man's form as he prepared for the jump longer than he usually did. Once, twice, thrice – four times he spun in the air before coming back down to the ice. Then, just as he landed, the unthinkable happened.

His skate shot out to the side and Tasoq fell.

Landing heavily on his hip, he didn't allow the fall to get him down and shot right up with a look of joy. But the damage had been done. His skating was rigid, and the skater was obviously feeling the injury, however small. It would leave a nasty bruise, at best.

"That's the same gouge I ran into," Riku hissed in sympathy.

"Sorry," one of the other competitors apologized. It was Roxas who, like Tasoq, was from the Collective States of Spira. He had been the one to make the gouge, apparently.

People in their seats were leaving. I didn't blame them. Tasoq Sota wasn't a comeback kind of guy. I had been watching him for eleven years, and that had never been clearer.

I was interviewed shortly after my "Hero's" dance, as I filed out of the rink. _Smile for the camera_, I reminded myself as the woman approached me, a cameraman hot on her heels.

"How does it feel?" she asked.

"How does what feel?"

The woman laughed, her perfectly made-up face contorting with the action. "How does it feel to win your first major Senior level competition?"

I gave her some re-hashed version of an answer she probably heard every single time she interviewed someone. My exact words have been forgotten. I just remember wanting to tell her that I didn't win. I hadn't beaten anyone that day. With as many botched performances as there were, I might as well have not come at all. The crowd shouldn't have showed up. The judges could have been AWOL because it didn't make sense to have five out of six competitors bring their A-game only to slip on an incision in the ice before they so much as finish their first jumps.

I remained in Grid for another day before going back home. Had a drink with Riku in the hotel Lobby. (Non-alcoholic, sadly. Apparently sixteen is underage there. It's bullshit, if you ask me. In Radiant Garden you're allowed mild liquor with parental consent at fourteen, and without consent at sixteen.) I made sure to stop by the local museum of technology. It was really quite amazing what people there considered "Ancient." A model of computer that wouldn't be reaching my country for another six months was already considered outdated. (And before you ask, yes – I did ask my parents if I could get a new laptop while I was there. They asked me what was wrong with mine, to which I replied, "Nothing," and said my goodbyes before ending the call.)

Arriving at the airport, I checked my bags and prepared for a long flight. (Ten hours, to be exact.)

The moment I got home, I collapsed into bed.

I holed up in my room for about three days, sleeping off the jet lag before anyone bothered me.

**-S-C-**

Four even knocks startled me from sleep, sending me into a confused frenzy of limbs and sheets. By the time I came to my senses a familiar voice was shouting through the door, "Ienzo! You lazy ass – Jet Lag does _not_ last for three days!"

"Yes it does," I groaned back. "Hi, Xion."

My door was thrown open, and Xion stepped into my metaphorical cage in all her winter-garb glory. Her short black hair had been covered by an ear-flap hat (who knows what they're called,) and it looked like she was wearing three coats. It wasn't that she was fat – she's possibly the skinniest person I know. It was because she was actually wearing three coats, and they were all actually lighter jackets piled on top of one another. "Up, boo-boo!" she cried, stepping forward to take hold of the sheets tangled around my form. "Up!" Her war-cry was the only warning I received before she gave a mighty yank and sent me careening to the floor. There I became an undignified lump of flesh, sans sheets.

I yelped upon meeting with the hardwood floors. They were _freezing_! "What was that for?" I demanded, jumping up onto my bed and burrowing beneath what covers remained, recoiling when she came near.

Taking hold of the comforter I was clutching, the young woman yanked those out of my hands as well. "It's my birthday," she announced, "and you promised you'd be at my place in half an hour. I called, and your parents said you were asleep."

"Birthday?" I grumbled, not quite comprehending. "That was today?"

"You forgot."

"I didn't forget – I just lost track of the days," I stated blandly.

"Right," the woman droned, dragging out the word. Balling up the comforter in her arms, she tossed it to the other side of the room. "Now get dressed – you have five minutes before I do it to you forcefully..." Looking me over, she seemed to be considering my appearance. "Actually, scratch that. Take a shower, _then_ get dressed. I'll be downstairs with coffee. You have fifteen minutes before I chop of your balls with a stuffed animal." And with that unlikely-sounding ultimatum, she left.

Though the threat was (obviously) empty, I decided to comply with her demands anyway, and made it downstairs in a record ten minutes. I was, in fact, met with coffee. Lovely, lovely coffee. Xion always did make fantastic lattes. "So what's the plan?" I asked her around my travel mug, which she had tracked down and filled for me.

Pulling on her coats, which she had stripped at one point, Xion grinned and pointed behind her. It was the general direction of town. "First we're watching a few movies at my place – romantic comedy night. Then everyone's going downtown for some boozing. Just the usual Saturday plans. Except I get to choose the movie, for once."

"Joy," I droned quietly, taking a sip of my coffee. My wonderful, wonderful coffee. "What are we watching?"

"_Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day_ and _Boys_."

I shrugged. "I've never heard of _Boys_. What's it about?"

"Some kid named Skye, played by Sora Osment. He has this weird meet-cute* with this guy in the locker room at school. Then his reputation goes down the toilet because of their association – or something like that."

"Who plays the other guy?"

"Riku Gallagher."

Ienzo choked on his coffee. At the girl's strange look, he bit his lip. "He and Zexion had coffee in Grid after the competition," the boy half-explained. "I didn't know he was an actor, too."

She grinned. "Speaking of your brother, how is he? I forgot to ask if he could come along."

_He's fine_, I thought to myself. _Just a little trapped inside my skin_. "He's got a cold. Mom has him quarantined to his room."

"Ouch. Well, tell him I hope he feels better soon."

"I could go tell him now, if you'd like, but I think he's sleeping."

"No," she declined a bit too quickly, surprising me. Usually she would jump at the chance. "That's fine. Let him sleep. Let's just get to the party, okay?" Tugging her third and final coat over her shoulders, she motioned for me to follow her through the house.

As we passed through the front door, I paused. "Where are my parents?"

"They went to check on your brother," she replied evenly.

I blinked. "So why can't we visit him?"

"Because we're late, you ignoramus. For a party _I'm_ hosting."

"Did you just call me an ignoramus?"

"Yes, cretin," Xion stated simply, walking around her car and wrenching open the door. "Now get in. If the guys get there first and trash my room, I'm blaming you."

Following her instructions to a T, I opened the side door and slid into the passenger seat with a shiver. The leather was freezing. "Who would you blame if you were picking up Luxord?"

"I'd still blame you," the girl announced, much to my confusion. Starting the car, she grinned big. "See, the thing about you and me is that we blame each other for everything-"

"_You_ blame _me_ for everything," I corrected.

"- and the world continues to turn in its usual manner due to our wonderful and exciting dynamic. Without you, I wouldn't have a fag. And without me, you wouldn't have a hag."

"What does my sexual orientation and your lack of female friends have to do with the world turning?"

"Nothing and everything." Then the car lurched once, twice, Xion giggled, and we took off down the road in a somewhat shaky, not-quite-straight line. And very slowly. Xion always drove slowly.

**-S-C-**

Xion's entertainment room at her parents' house was by far the coolest I have ever seen. It looked more like a cabin built of wood than the four-story brick giant that it was. The walls were boards of oak, nailed into place horizontally and left unfinished. There were two long, very worn couches placed around a large television, which was hooked up to a sound system that had been in its prime long before anyone in our group was born. It didn't have any dividing walls, and ran the length of the house, with the occasional brick pillar rising to support the ceiling to interrupt the space.

It was an attic.

Hands down, it was – and remains to this day – my favorite place in Radiant Garden.

There were a few new faces there that day. It wasn't horribly important, but I still wanted to know where they came from. So I set out to figure it out the old fashioned way. I learned, after some careful eavesdropping, that they were from Xion's Al Bhed class. (I realize that it doesn't count as eavesdropping if you're part of the conversation, but it's the thought that counts. And I _felt_ sneaky.)

Eventually everyone (all ten of us) piled onto the couches and turned on the first movie. It was horribly squashed, but blissfully warm. Thus I didn't really have anything to complain about. Besides – the movie was hilarious. (It was on that day that I discovered the magic of chick-flicks. But that's another story.)

Beside me was a young man who looked to be a few years older than me – around Xion's age. (I estimated him at about nineteen.) He had short blue hair – as blue as "Zexion's" – and even brighter blue eyes. Thankfully, he wasn't the type to overdose on one color, as my mother sometimes did. He wore simple black jeans, orange converse, a yellow shirt, and had draped his brown leather jacket over the back of the couch. It looked soft.

After a few seconds of observing the man, I looked back up at his face and found him studying me, as well. After a moment our eyes met and I glanced away, face hot. It wasn't because I had been embarrassed – far from it. I'd caught him staring too, after all.

His gaze had been heavy. Like he was expecting something from me.

_Does he swing that way, too?_ I thought.

The moment the first movie ended, and Xion left to refill bowls of popcorn, the man turned to me and said, "You're Ienzo, right?"

I looked back at him, surprised. "Yes, I am," I confirmed. "And you are?"

He shifted to his left and people in their seats began to stand and wander the room, then offered his hand for me to shake. "My name is Ïsa. It's nice to finally meet you."

"People have been gossiping," I mused aloud. "Shame on them."

"Nothing bad," the man informed me confidently. "In fact, I hear you're quite the Mathematician."

"When I want to be." _What is this guy's angle?_ I thought. "What's it to you?"

Ïsa smiled. It was a small thing that touched his eyes with small wrinkles. "I'm into science – astrophysics in particular. The others figured they could finally pawn me off to someone who might actually understand what I'm saying."

I just stared. "So what – they're holding bets behind our backs as to whether or not we'll be shacking up by the end of the week?"

"The guys are. The girls just want me to shut up."

I looked over his shoulder. Lo and behold, a few people were staring in a manner a bit _too_ intense to just be an idle glance. "I can't imagine why. So far you're been pretty quiet."

"You haven't heard me talk yet."

"We are talking."

"We're chattering, not talking."

My eyes narrowed. "Chattering is talking."

"Now it's turned into sexually charged banter."

I rolled my eyes. "Please. The day I exchange sexually charged banter with a perfect stranger is that day I meet Winnie the Pooh in person."

"Get a honey pot ready," Ïsa stated calmly. "Welcome to the land of banter."

"This isn't banter."

"You're right – it's playful banter."

Anger rose in me until my face was bright red. Ïsa was returning all my dismissals with a blank face and perfectly calm countenance. It was infuriating, at best. "What are you on?"

"Oh God – get a room, guys!"

Xion's voice from the staircase startled a jump from me, though the (taller) man I was arguing with seemed perfectly held together. _Bastard_, I thought. _Does nothing catch you off guard?_

"I would, but I don't think Ienzo would appreciate that," Ïsa stated simply, much to my astonishment.

"Really? The sexual tension between you two is so thick you could cut it with a knife," the young woman droned. Then she winked.

They were _teasing_ me.

Those fuckers.

I sighed. "Whatever. What's the second movie, again?"

"Boys," she announced, waving everyone over and handing out bowls of popcorn. "With Sora Osment and Riku Gallagher."

After that, we all settled down and watched the movie. It was nice. Really nice. Rom-Coms* were officially on my list of things that I loved. (Shh. You are to tell no one.) Of course, I would have been able to enjoy it more if everyone would have stopped sending us very obvious glances.

_Are all college students like this?_ I found myself thinking.

Things continued much like this until the movie ended, after which everyone shot up excitedly. I had forgotten we were going to the bar afterward, and was a bit confused for a moment before realization dawned. _Alcohol._ _Finally_. It wasn't long until I was up along with them, practically sprinting to the cars and playing human Tetris as eight of us fought to get the passenger seats. Eventually we were all seated comfortably in two cars, and driving off into downtown.

The bar we went to – a place known for its oddly flavored shots – had low lighting and a dance floor. It was a hotspot for hookups, and it wasn't until Xion insisted that I sit next to Ïsa that I realized why we had come here. Xion, in all her Fag Hag glory, wanted to hook me up with Ïsa just like everyone else. It was a disturbing thought – one that, oddly enough, motivated me to give the man a try.

Especially when he brought me a lime-strawberry shot of tequila from the bar, along with a purple lemonade.

"So, Ienzo," he began colloquially, sliding my name around his tongue like a toothbrush. "What's your handkerchief color?"

I screwed up my eyes. "Handkerchief?"

"Yeah – the code. Mine's argyle."

My strange look made way for an amused grin. "Gray." It appeared he was an active member of the gay community. At the time, I didn't know if this was a turnoff, or just plain sexy.

Then he launched into a long spiel about the difference between Astrophysics and regular old Physics.

_Argyle. Seeing it now, _I had thought to myself. After about ten minutes of this, I grinned and invited him to dance. He agreed, and we stepped out onto the floor. When we touched, there weren't fireworks like in those books Xion read, or even a rush of heat. At best, it was nice.

As long as I didn't look at our group and find them all staring, that is. Seriously – how weird are friends allowed to be?

After two songs, we went back to the table, downing a few drinks. After I was suitably buzzed, the door to the bar opened, and my eyes turned away from the crowd of invasive friends to spy a familiar figure step into the bar. Chin-length blond hair, blue-green eyes, thin jaw – I felt my heart begin to give out at the sight.

What was Tasoq Sota doing in Radiant Garden, let alone in some dingy little bar in the ridiculously small college town of Hollow Bastion? I hid behind Ïsa, which he apparently mistook for affection, as he soon invited me for a walk. Suddenly desperate to not be seen (for reasons I couldn't begin to explain,) I accepted. Through a haze of alcohol, I was barely conscious enough to stumble out of the bar after Ïsa.

I don't remember much after that. There was an alley, and breath that stunk of alcohol and flavored syrup. The next morning I woke up with a shooting pain up my spine, and my wrists were raw. But what alarmed me most was that there were no bruises. In a drunken haze, I had submitted to whatever Ïsa had done.

Or, more likely, I had initiated it.

**-S-C-**

"Zexion, honey," my mother called through the door to my room, much as she usually did when she was about to talk business. "Mr. Myde, your new coach, is going to be at the rink soon. Get ready, sweetie."

Glancing at the clock, I found that it was seven in the morning – an entire hour later than I usually awoke. As usual, without a hangover. (I'm one of those lucky people.) A glance out my window revealed that it had snowed overnight, and was still snowing. Throwing on my gear, along with a thick winter coat, I grabbed a breakfast pocket from the kitchen and opened up the front door. There had to be at least six inches of snow, and the longer I took to get to the rink, the higher it would pile. Bidding my mother farewell, I began the mile trek to the rink. After a few minutes of walking, I arrived at the building and unlocked the doors.

No one was there that early in the morning. Aside from my coach, I always had my practices to myself. But that morning, even my coach wasn't there. Stepping into the locker room, I shed my winter gear – being careful to hang them up so they wouldn't be soaked when I finished practice – and donned my skates. Still, my new coach didn't show.

I did warmups, taking as long as possible. He didn't show.

After rehearsing my routine, he still didn't show.

Half an hour in, without only the ticking clock as my companion, I began to doubt there _was_ a coach. Maybe it was just some elaborate scheme to see if I could practice on my own. Maybe Cid wasn't actually retiring, and there were secret cameras placed around the rink.

When a door on the far side of the room opened loudly, slowly, I turned to see a bundle of fabric limping into the room. The figure had at least three hats, and from what I could see of the clothes under the massive overcoat there looked to be two sweaters, three pairs of socks, pajama pants, a pair of fluffy gloves, and three shirts. Whatever it was, it waddled into the room a crouching mess.

"Hello?" I greeted hesitantly. The creature flinched.

"Hud cu muit, please," the thing whispered hoarsely. Aside from the "please" bit, it was obviously speaking another language. It shivered once – a massive shiver to put all other shivers I had ever seen to shame – and reached up to remove its caps. They all came off at once, only to reveal a mess of blond. Off came the gloves, coat, sweaters, pajama pants, shoes socks – the stranger was literally stripping.

Eventually, the thing stood before me in jeans and a t-shirt. I wasn't too surprised to find myself face to face with Tasoq Sota. Shocked? Yes. Surprised? Not so much.

Pulling a phone from his pocket, he typed something into it. After it made a noise, he held it out for me to see the screen.

Rammu. Oui sicd pa Zexion Corazza. E ys Tasoq Sota - oui'na haf luylr. Hela du saad oui.

_Al-Bhed Recognized._

_Translation: Hello. You must be Zexion Corazza. I am Demyx Myde – you're new coach. It's nice to meet you._

I made a mental note to thank my parents when I got home.

**-S-C-**

**Meet-Cute*: When two characters meet in a strange situation. Usually used in Rom-Coms to have romantic interests meet each other.**

**Rom-Com*: A romantic comedy movie.**

**End Notes: This chapter is dedicated to A Realm Above, who with one review managed to renew my faith in Zemyx and motivate me to post this after well over two years of planning. Realm, your timing was impeccable. (Also, sorry it's late.) In the mean time, if you guys are looking for a good fic, check out Guilty Conscience by FreeKiwi. It's absolutely hilarious. (Or, you know, you could go check out my story The Mechanic. It doesn't get enough love.) And yes, I do realize that I now have to major projects going on. I work better with a lot of my plate.**

**Now, I'm off to Akicon! Anyone going there, look for the girl in the pink jumpsuit, or at the Masque wearing a white dress. And yes, I do respond to my username. (Or you can call me Alena.) Catch me at the right time, ask the right questions, and you might get spoilers for my projects!**

**Reviews keep me breathing! (Or, rather, feedback keeps me sane.)**

**-Besieged Infection**


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